It’s thrilling when the unorthodox
Triumphs over the orthodox.
I watched you as a boy playing
Toying with opposition bowlers
Your flashing bat smashing the ball
The boundaries around the field.
I suffered your disappointments
Celebrated your successes
The youngest player in history
To score a hundred in both innings of a test match.
The roller coaster ride of your play
In the team then out again
Four times I was told
But you never lost faith.
Then this week the unthinkable
A ball you have played a thousand times
We hung on for two days in hope
Then the announcement
News, which shattered the cricket world.
Your death mourned by so many
No cricketer spared,
For there by the grace of God go I.
This week has seen the death of Phillip Hughes, a 25 year old cricketer who died after being struck by a ball during a state game in Sydney. His death has had a profound effect on the cricketing world. I wrote this poem after reading Charlie Alford’s poem this morning:
around the country people are leaving their bats out on their front verandas or in front of their house as a tribute to this remarkable young player.